"It's my turn now!" I announced one afternoon as Phil walked into the dorm mumbling angrily under his breath.

"Huh?" He said, throwing his bag onto the ground and sighing heavily.

"Time to meet my parents."

"I've already met them."

"You only met my mum, and I reckon a fresh start might be a good idea as that event could have gone better. Come on, it's your duty remember."

"Right. Cool. Fine." He muttered.

I frowned. "Hey," I said, sinking down beside him. "What's wrong?"

"It's fine. It's my fault, don't worry about it. I'm just a massive idiot."

"Hey! Phil, what happened? Seriously?" I wrapped my arms around his shoulders.

He sighed heavily. "I failed my art coursework."

"What?!" I gasped. "But your art's amazing!"

"I just didn't get anything finished, I don't even know I just didn't do it. I guess I just got so distracted what with everything that happened, you know. I just sort of wandered in there with half a folder like oh, I haven't done anything. Why haven't I done anything?" He buried his face in his hands.

I rubbed his back, biting my lip. "Is there really nothing you can do? Like, can you not finish it all and ask for a remark?"

"No," he sighed. "That's it, it's all been sent off to be moderated now. It's like 60%, I've basically failed the whole exam. Oh God."

I opened and closed my mouth a few times, wishing I knew what to say. "Hey," I said lamely. "We'll figure something out. Don't worry. It's not like the end of the world or anything, we can sort this."

He laughed hollowly, leaning his head into my shoulder. "There's nothing you can do, it was my fault and it's done now. Let's just go see your parents."

I bit my lip. "You really don't have to. Like we can just go to bed and watch Game of Thrones instead, seriously we'll go another time." I kissed the top of his head.

"No it's fine I want to go. I'd like some fresh air."

"You sure?"

"Mmm hmm."

"Kay. I'll call my mum."

I hugged him again, sighing into the berry scent of his shampoo and furrowing my brow. Maybe I'd ask my mum. She always knew what to do.

*

"Well, surely Phil should just pledge for mitigating circumstances?" My mum's eyes were wide with concern as we spoke in whispers in the kitchen. "I mean those poor boys dying wasn't his fault!"

"I didn't think of that actually." I frowned. "Do you think that would work?"

"Of course! It's only coursework so it's internal anyway, they'll give him more time. I'm sure of it. Oh, poor Phil he must be really upset about this, what with his parents being artists and all that. You should ring up the college. Sort it all out for him. He seems so sweet and it would be a lovely thing to do."

"Yeah, that's a really good idea! So he doesn't have to deal with all the stress stuff."

"Exactly." Mum smiled at me. "Go do it now before he has to tell his parents."

"Wait - what no, what?"

"Ask for the exam office and just explain what happened, I'm sure they'll be understanding." My mum turned to stir the pot simmering on the hob.

I blinked.

"Can you not do it?" I mumbled, my expression pained.

"Oh, grow up Daniel." Mum rolled her eyes. "He's not my friend and he's not my son either - at least not yet I hope. It'll be good for you. You need to get used to doing these things for yourself!"

"Please mum." I muttered, acutely aware of how pathetic I sounded.

"For goodness sake Daniel. The phone is in the hall. Go do it, they're not going to bite. They know you."

"That's the problem," I muttered under my breath as I trudged resignedly into the hall. "It will be even more embarrassing when I mess it up somehow."

Do it for Phil.

I picked up the phone and dialled the college number, praying silently that they wouldn't pick up.

"Bradfield college reception desk, how can we help you?"

I took a deep breath.

*

"Hey, Phil?" I tried to hide my grin behind a stack of plates.

"Huh?" He looked up from the cutlery he was laying.

"You'll never guess what."

"What?"

"I just rung up the college and persuaded them to give you more time and a remark on your art stuff due to 'mitigating circumstances'."

His mouth fell open.

"Seriously?! I didn't know you could do that! Oh my god, why didn't you tell me? I- thank you wow oh my god!"

He rushed forwards, snatching the plates from my arms so that he could pull me into a hug. I beamed as I patted his back. 100 boyfriend points to me.

My mum came in with the stew pot and winked at me.

Okay, 50 to my mum. But I did the hard bit.

"Oh, wow, that looks delicious!" Phil said as he turned round.

I rolled my eyes, letting him slip out of my arms with reluctance. It was ridiculous how happy his smile made me.

*

This meal was a lot less eventful than the evening at Phil's, mainly owing to the fact it was just me, mum and Phil as Dad was working late. I finished clearing the table and popped to the loo. When I got back Phil and my mum were chatting and giggling together like school girls. As I walked in they both fell silent, looking up at me with identical grins on their faces.

"What?" I grunted.

At that, they both burst out laughing again. I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms, waiting for them to calm down. As my mum wiped a tear from the edge of her eye I got impatient and grabbed Phil by the arm to pull him up.

"Come on, we've got to get back. I don't know what you two have been up to but the fun's over or we'll miss our train."

"Oh Dan, you're no fun anymore." My mum sniggered, jumping up to show us out and give us both a brief hug.

*

The night was another crisp one, autumn well and truly underway. The trees that lined the dark streets were starting to lose their leaves and create a wet mulch on the pavement that glistened under the streetlamps.

"By the way, you're booked for tomorrow evening. Don't make any plans." Phil murmured as we walked hand in hand.

I raised my eyebrows. "Oh yes?" I giggled. "Have you informed PJ and Chris of these plans?"

"Not that kind of booked, god, is that all you ever think about?" Phil cringed.

"Oh," I pouted. "Don't get my hopes up like that." I stuck my tongue out at him. "I was imagining something really kinky."

Phil tried to punch me but I just grabbed his hand, swinging on his arm as we walked. The night was clear and the stars were shining. A freshness was in the air and I breathed deeply, swinging our hands between us as our footsteps echoed down the empty pavement.

"Love you." I mumbled.

"Love you too, idiot." Phil grinned.

*

The shower was deliciously warm as it ran down my back and over my shoulders. My nose was filled with the smell of 'summer fruits' and I worked up a generous lather, pampering myself for whatever Phil had planned for tonight. I breathed in guiltily, the scent filling my lungs with rainbows and unicorns. It was hardly manly but I knew Phil wouldn't mind, I'd already made sure to use his favourite shampoo twice and I was seriously considering moisturizer.

"Oi!" A fist banged on the door. "Hurry up, I need a shit."

I snorted into the bubbles. "Five minutes, sorry!" I yelled back.

A bang and a couple of muffled expletives later the door burst open, Chris shirtless in the frame.

"A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do. Hold yerr nose sonny!"

"Nooo!"

"Bombs awaaaeeeooaay!"

"Oh Jesus!"

*

I ran my fingers through my hair, cursing myself immediately and trying to smooth it back into shape with little success. Aftershave. Clothes. Condoms and lube (hey, I could dream). Hair straightened. Moisturized. Clean boxers. Presentable. Skinny jeans. Face? Acceptable. Phone. Wallet. Bus ID. Railcard. Room ke-

Phil burst through the door with a grin and my mouth dropped open. The skinny jeans were unchanged but he was wearing a smart shirt in pale blue, his hair immaculately styled.

"You ready to go?" He smiled.

"Do I need to change? Is there like a dress code I'm gonna feel so underdressed next to you - please just tell me where we're going I-" I panicked.

"You look perfect. Now come on, we can't be late."

"Where are we going?" I protested as he dragged me out the door.

"Spoilers." He winked.

*

We arrived at the train station, the cool air calming me down ever so slightly. He wouldn't show me the tickets and he rushed me onto the platform before I'd had time to read the display on the front of the train so that I was forced to stare out the window as the rapidly darkening countryside flashed past. Phil sat next to me, a smug little grin plastered across his face. His lips were utterly and unbendingly sealed but it didn't stop me trying.

"What stop do we need to get off at?"

"The eighth one."

"Will I need to be posh?"

"You can be whatever you want to be, don't let society hold you back."

"How much money am I going to need?"

"It's my treat. None."

"But-"

"No."

"Will I need my bus ID?"

"Nope."

"Are we getting another train after this one?"

"Yup."

"How far away is it?"

"Not too far."

"Do you love me?"

"Yes."

"Then where are we going?"

"..."

"I thought you said you loved me!"

"I do. With all my heart."

"Then why won't you tell me!"

"It's a surprise."

"I don't like surprises."

"You'll like this one."

"How can you be so sure? I might hate it. If you just tell me then you can save yourself the awkwardness."

"You won't hate it. I checked with your mum."

"That's not fair, that's definitely cheating."

"All's fair in love's war."

"Oh, shut up."

"Fine."

"No don't shut up- I want you to tell me where we're going!"

"..."

"Phil."

"..."

"Phiiiiil."

"..."

"I hate you."

"No you don't."

"Yes I do."

"Fine, go sit somewhere else then. I'll go on my own."

"I really do hate you. With all my heart."

"Great. We're getting off at the next stop."

"Shit!" I swung round to gaze intently out of the window. Somehow Phil had managed to completely distract me and I hadn't noticed the train coming into a city full of bright lights and tower blocks.

"We're in London!" I breathed.

"Well done, if you'd just been quiet and watched you would have realized a long time ago."

"Oh shut up."

"Have you got your ticket?"

"Yes mum."

"Good boy, now mind the gap and hold my hand – the station will be really busy and I don't want to lose you."

"I loathe you."

Phil dragged me towards the tube but made me close my eyes so that I couldn't see which line we were getting on. The train was packed as only to be expected on a Friday night and I found my carefully preened hair shoved up against the rucksack of what resembled a rabid mountain lion in a jumpsuit. A small lady clutching a briefcase had her face in my armpit and I was grateful for the extra deodorant.

We got off at Covent Garden and I raised my eyebrows questioningly but Phil made no comment. When we finally fought our way out of the station he linked his arm around mine with a grin and produced an immaculate red rose from somewhere unknown. I blushed.

"Phil. You're ridiculous. How did it not get squished?"

"I was careful." He poked his tongue out somewhat sheepishly as he handed it to me.

By now it was almost completely dark, streetlamps casting pools of yellow light down onto the pavement. The usual hustle and bustle of London city had relaxed into a cheerful, shining nighttime atmosphere and the air was cool against my skin, making me glad of Phil's warm arm. He led the way leisurely giving me time to take in the tall buildings and bright lights. It had been a while since I had been in London. I smiled up at the stonework, leafy trees obscuring my vision every now and then. Great stone archways hundreds of years old stood next to sleek glass tower blocks; fast cars weaved in and out of narrow, winding cobbled streets. Hundreds of thousands of people talked and laughed as they meandered. We were heading away from the quaint old market, veering towards the Strand and the lush green Lincolns Inn Fields. I didn't bother asking Phil where we were going, content at last to watch the world go by in a swarm of black cabs and thick coats.

Phil's arm tightened slightly on my own and I snapped out of my daze, squinting into the darkness. The white top of a building was visible above the trees. I stared around me. We were on Bow Street. Why did that name sound familiar? I looked again at the building, craning my neck as we rounded the corner. Suddenly it was looking in front of us and lips parted into a tiny 'o'. Huge, white columns protruded out into the street; ornately carved and adorned with crimson flags. Great slabs of white stone towered into the sky and carvings glittered with moisture.

"The Royal Opera House." I breathed.

Phil bit his lip, his eyes wide and his brow furrowed. He nodded.

"Are we going to the opera?" I asked.

Phil just shook his head and I looked again, close enough to read the signs.

"Swan Lake!" I yelped.

"I know it's really clichéd and like, the most famous ballet ever but your mum said you'd only seen Coppélia and she thought you'd want to see it and it was the only thing on because I wanted it to be like the proper royal ballet company and here and like it's one of those things that you have to see at least once and I just thought that-"

"Shh." I whispered, pressing my finger against his lips. "It's perfect. Beyond perfect. Oh my God. You really didn't have to do this for me I, what brought this on?! Literally oh my god." I sighed at the plush wide open doors full of chattering, excited people queuing.

"Mostly because you're amazing and I wanted to do something special just for you." He mumbled into my ear as we moved forwards slowly. "But also because of what you did with my coursework. Like, there was no need to do that at all, you could have just told me but you did it. Just because. And it was, well, the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me. So I wanted to repay you."

"You didn't need to repay me, literally, that was nothing!"

"I wanted to, though. I've never been to the ballet before, remember?"

Lost for words, I brought his lips to mine under the glow of a streetlamp.

*

The seats were red velvet; cramped yet deliciously comfortable. I stared avidly at the curtains: thick, rich satin embroidered with thousands of threads and jewels to form intricate patterns that closed tantalizingly over the set. We had fourth row stall seats – the kind I would never be able to afford – and from here I could see the theatre in all its glory. I had never been inside the ROH before, and the finery completely overwhelmed me to the point where my neck was aching from staring up at the ceiling. Domed roof. Carved. Lit by a great, glittering chandelier that would have killed hundreds had it fallen. Four circles curved their way up towards the roof, each filling with chattering, excited voices as people of all ages settled down in their seats only to jump up again in order to let someone past with a chorus of sorry!'s.

There was a sudden buzz of excited noise as the lights dimmed, and then all was silent. From here I could see the top of the conductor's head down in the orchestra pit, its movement slight but enough to pinpoint the exact moment he raised his baton.

The lilt of the oboe filled the theatre. I stared with all my might.

"If you're going to make that face the whole way through I think I'd rather just watch you." Phil whispered with a grin.

I blushed, but his teasing wasn't enough the kindle the light in my eyes or calm my beating heart.

The music picked up and I turned my attention back to the stage, barely managing to stay in my seat.

The curtains opened in a swish of satin. The trumpeters on stage parted and Prince Siegfried sprung onto the stage in all his white thight-ed glory.

"Now that is a nice arse." Phil whispered.

I punched him on the arm, not averting my gaze from the figure leaping and twisting just a few feet in front of me.

"Jesus. That has got to be padded." Phil added.

"Of course it's padded," I whispered back with a grin. "Wouldn't want any accidents in those tights."

Phil sniggered and quietened down, content to watch as more dancers filled the stage in shimmering costumes and a breathtaking grace. Slowly, as the magic and the music washed over me, I fell into a blissful trance.

*

Phil was watching me. I had become slowly aware of it since the beginning of the second act. Grudgingly, I pulled my eyes away from the stage.

His were soft and blue, a tiny smile playing across his lips.

"What?" I whispered.

"I could easily just watch you watch the ballet all evening. Your face is amazing. Your reactions tell the story just as well as all that prancing about. And anyway, I don't think I've ever seen you so blissfully happy. You look like you do when you're dancing only without the intense concentration frown. It's kind of amazing and a lot of beautiful."

I blushed. "Don't watch me. Watch the ballet! God knows how much these tickets cost you. It's amazing, one of the best ballets ever."

"I know. I can tell, it's really beautiful. I don't ever want it to end."

"Odette's only just arrived," I laughed. "There's still a fair way to go."

"How do you know their names? They don't speak!" He frowned.

"Shhh!" I snickered, glancing guiltily over at our neighbours. "It's one of the most famous ballets ever. I've danced some of it, but every dancer knows the story. Now shush. Watch."

He smiled, laying his hand on the arm rest palm up with a question in his eye. I looked at the people around us again and, satisfied that they were all too immersed in the show to notice us, slipped my hand into his.

*

Phil insisted on buying us ice cream in the interval even though I complained that they were ridiculously overpriced and we shouldn't encourage them. As we sat discussing the show it was hard not to gush about the technical details, but I found Phil to be surprisingly observant considering he'd referred to it as 'prancing around' and spent a good deal of it taking the piss out of my childlike glee. I'd just finished gabbling about a sequence of thirty two fouettes that left my mouth open wide when I realised Phil had that expression again. The little smile and sparkling eyes.

"What?" I said self consciously.

"Nothing. I just think I've just spent the evening falling in love with you all over again."

I blushed. "Oh, shut up."

"I guess I've just been taken over by the magic of the theatre." He grinned. "But seriously, watching you talk like that with so much, I dunno, heart and passion I guess. You're even more beautiful than normal."

My blush deepened and I looked down into my lap. "You've embarrassed me into silence now. No more passion for you."

"Aww, I'm sorry," he poked his tongue out the corner of his mouth. "I'll just eat your ice cream while you're too busy being self conscious."

*

The dying swan scene. I knew it by heart, but having it so close in front of me brought a sensation into my chest that was so hard to describe. To my quiet glee when I snuck a glance at Phil there was moisture glistening in the corners of his rapt, attentive eyes as he gazed in heartbroken wonder at the stage.

Black swans, white swans, tights, mythical creatures, evil wizards... my biggest fear for the evening had been that it would be hard to follow for someone who didn't know the story and Phil would get bored, but as he sobbed quietly into my shoulder I realised how much meaning you can really convey through dance. I wondered what it felt like to get up onto that stage and dance every night. To fly across the stage as part of such a beautiful, passionate whole. Each dancer danced as if it was their last, each face as rapt with emotion as Phil's and mine.

Phil had asked before how the dancers didn't get bored of the same show every night, but I knew I could never be bored of this. Each night is different. While for you it was just another day at work, for the audience it was a special occasion that they were probably saving for and looking forward to for months. I imagined it would be virtually impossible not to be taken over by the magic of the show no matter what you were doing. Even the people right at the back selling programmes had that same glazed look in their eyes and god knows how many times they'd seen the show. The people in the front row held signs for their favourite performers and queued for hours for their day seats and went as often as they could. The people right up in the dress circle at the very back that probably couldn't see anything besides little white blobs bouncing up and down yet still left with tears in their eyes. And of course the dancers. With their mangled feet and aching limbs that just didn't matter somehow. Phil held my hand and I held his and together we were lost in the dance and the music.